I Dreamed A Dream
by xbecbebex
Summary: Her dreams were almost worse than her nightmares. At least the nightmares were mostly true. Her dreams would give her hope, make her smile as she woke up. But then cruel reality would creep back in and she'd realize just how much she had lost.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: First of all, I do not own any of these characters mentioned in this silly little story. I'm merely borrowing them for my own pleasure. I'll put them right back, GRRM, I promise. Second, I'm so glad many of you liked my first SanSan story. So here's another. And this one won't be just a one shot. I have plans for this one. I hope you like it! Let me know.**

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

**She had been so foolish back then. Head full of silly songs and love stories that would never come to pass. Joffrey had been kind at first, whispering little sweet sentiments to her, protecting her from his Dog. If only she had known then that she needed protection from him. **

**Her skin had once been creamy and smooth and free from any blemishes to mar its surface. Now there were cuts on her legs, welts all over her body, fading yellow bruises with some purple fresh ones intermingled in. She could no longer bare to look at herself in the mirror while getting dressed. She didn't want to see what new wounds she carried. **

**At night, she would be tortured by dreams and nightmares. The dreams were almost worse because she would wake up happy, only to be cruelly reminded of the hell her life had became. King Joffrey taunted her, had her beaten and disrobed all for his pleasure. His uncle saved her once. The King had taken extreme caution after that so they wouldn't get caught again.**

**One time she dreamed she was back in the North. It was a different Winterfell from before, after all it had been destroyed. But this one was rebuilt and it was glorious and it felt like home. A feeling she wondered if she'd ever have again. Arya was there with a young man whom Sansa didn't know. Rickon and Bran were there! And then she was there. With the Hound. **

**She woke up the next morning with a headache, wondering just what her dream meant. Rickon and Bran had been reported dead. Arya was long gone and quite possibly dead too. Though, knowing her little sister as she did, she imagined that Arya would outlive them all if her temper didn't do her in first. A smile appeared on her lips for the first time in Gods knew how long. She didn't know what the Hound was doing in her dream, but it made her feel safe, another feeling she was no longer familiar with. **

**Sansa found herself revisiting the dream whenever she was being beaten, trying to keep a grip on reality and failing. It was the only thing that got her through the day, the thought that she may dream again of that crazy world that she wished was real. She found herself seeking out the Hound every time she was in a room with him. He was the one that frequently escorted her back to her chambers after her beatings and while she was usually in worlds of pain by then, his presence reminded her that for now, it was over. **

**After a particularly brutal beating, Sansa found herself dizzy and limping and gasping for air. One of the men, she had lost track of which one, had kicked her numerous times in the ribs and now she couldn't breathe properly. It was making her head spin. She could feel the Hound's eyes on her as she inhaled sharply, pressing a hand against her ribcage. **

"**C'mon, girl, hurry up." **

"**Please, ser, I can't breathe." She gasped, holding out a hand to stay him. He stopped moving, coming closer to her. There was actual concern in his eyes. **

"**Little bird." He rasped and she looked up at him just in time to catch his gaze before fainting. She never hit the floor. **


	2. Chapter 2

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As always, I'm merely playing with these characters like I used to play with Ken and Barbie. AH. That's a cute idea. Anywho, chapter two. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

This is the worst shape that he's ever seen her in. There are bruises he is not permitted to see, but when she fell into his arms, he saw a dark mass through a rip in her dress. It didn't look good and it actually frightened him to hear the rasps that were coming from the little bird's lips. Her face was pale, pretty as usual, but losing color quickly.

He scooped her into his arms, one arm under her legs, the other supporting her head against his shoulder. He has never felt so big and powerful as he does now, holding her in his arms. He breaks out into an awkward run, quickly making it to her chambers and kicking the door open, surprising her handmaid. "Get the maester. Now." He growled, placing his broken little bird on her bed as gently as possible.

Sandor moves to leave, but a little whimper reaches his ears and he turns back, looking at her as her little hands reach out and grasp one of his big ones. "Don't go, ser, I only feel safe when you are around."

He grunts in response, but stays near her, hovering over her bed as she seems to pass out again. He's worried because it seems like each breath she takes is hard to handle. He's had his ribs broken numerous times and he can't imagine the pain Sansa is in right now. He was used to it. But she? She was so fragile and dainty that he was certain a lung had been punctured and she'd die right in front of him.

He steps back as the maester rushes into the room with her maid on his heels. He knows he should leave and the maid is giving him a look that says the same thing, but she softens and nods, knowing that no matter what she says, he won't leave. With a smirk, she holds a finger up to her lips and walks to the door to bar anyone else form coming in. But she watches him and he can feel her eyes on him the whole time.

He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot before finally settling into a chair that's much too small for him. It creaks underneath him and for a moment he's certain it will break, but just like his little bird, it's stronger than it seems.

Sandor… No, the Hound can't help but look as the maester carefully disrobes his little bird, leaving her in only in her small clothes. He sees her for the first time and finds himself growing hard, but his mind fights it. This was not right. Nothing in his life ever seemed improper until he met Sansa fucking Stark. Now he found himself living by her possible judgments. It was fucking pathetic.

He sees a deep dark bruise blossoming underneath her right breast, another smaller one right below it. He hears a sharp intake of breath as the maester presses his fingers gently upon each mark. "Careful, man." He growls. The maester shoots him a look of contempt before continuing in his exploration.

"I will leave some milk of poppy for her. Breathing will be labored for the next few days. I recommend wrapping her midsection as tightly as possible to keep her ribs in place. This is to prevent them from further damage. She needs some time to heal." The maester looks up at Sandor then and their eyes meet. There is sadness in the older man's eyes. They both know she won't have the time to heal. That this time tomorrow, the same thing may be happening to her again. That if it does, she may die.

Seven Hells. He thinks as the maid rushes forward to let the maester out and then stares pointedly at Sandor.

"I'm going. But I'll be back." Just try to stop me, he thought to himself with a wicked grin. As he leaves, the door is barred behind him and he can imagine the maid rushing to her lady's side to try to help her in any way she can. He wishes he could do the same. Instead, he will go to his room and stew silently, drinking jug after jug of wine until he can handle the fact that his little bird is broken. Hopefully, she can be put back together.


End file.
